


Nobody Knows I'm Burnin' Like A Fire

by sia_la_luce (FourCatProductions)



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Banter, Belligerent Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nipple Piercings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Sakurayashiki Kaoru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29975121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/sia_la_luce
Summary: “Not all of them,” Kaoru says.Kojiro blinks.“Not all of what?”“My piercings, you gorilla,” Kaoru says, poisonously polite. “What else would I be talking about?”-----Kaoru decides to let Kojiro in on a little secret. Kojiro is not at all prepared.
Relationships: Nanjo Kojiro | Joe/Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom
Comments: 30
Kudos: 542





	Nobody Knows I'm Burnin' Like A Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so Sk8 has taken over my life.
> 
> Here's "Kaoru has nipple piercings and Kojiro is Really Into That: The Fic".

It’s a quiet afternoon at _Sia la Luce_ , and Kojiro tells himself that’s the only reason he’s hanging around at the front counter, watching Kaoru eat cacio e pepe slower than any man has ever eaten pasta in the history of the world. He stops to blot his lips on his napkin and take a sip of water after every neat, uniform bite, and at this rate Kojiro’s going to switch over to the dinner menu before he’s even finished lunch. He props his elbows on the counter, chin resting on his forearms, and eventually Kaoru flicks him an irritated look, setting his fork down. His plate is still half-full.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He grins. “You eat like an old man.”

Kaoru’s scowl deepens. “Some of us prefer to eat like civilized people, instead of mashing our faces directly onto the plate.” He picks up his fork, takes another deliberate bite. Glares at Kojiro while he swallows. “No wonder your restaurant is empty, if you’re this rude to all your customers.”

“Nah. If anything, I’m giving you special treatment.”

Kaoru hurls a lemon wedge at him. Kojiro blocks it easily and ducks back into the kitchen to get himself a drink, laughing. When you’ve known someone as long as they have, it’s easy to wriggle under each other’s skin and stay there. _Habit,_ he’d say if anyone asked, _just habit,_ but the truth is there’s a particular thrill to the fact that nobody knows how to piss Kaoru off like he does.

He comes back out with an Italian soda and a fresh glass of water, no lemon. Kaoru gives him a withering look, but takes it all the same. This time, he eats a little faster, but not much, and Kojiro sits and drinks his soda and watches Kaoru watching him out of the corner of his eye. Waiting for him to say something else, probably, ready to bristle and snap like a loose wire at a moment’s notice.

Well. Kojiro’s always been one to oblige.

“You need something?”

“From you? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You were staring pretty hard just now.”

Kaoru’s eyebrows twitch, furrowed behind the elegant silver frame of his glasses. Everything about him radiates elegance, save the murderous expression—his sleek ponytail, his posture, the expensive navy kimono with the gold-striped obi that matches the ribbon in his hair. If only his clients could see him now, all his poise and quiet charm shredded in the blink of an eye. “ _You_ were staring at _me_ first, you dimwit.”

“I’m just trying to figure out when you got so boring.” Kojiro takes another gulp of soda, wipes his mouth on his wrist. Keeps it there to hide his grin when Kaoru’s eyebrows twitch again. “You were almost cool back when we were in school, and next thing I knew, you traded out the piercings for a calligraphy shop. Guess it was only a matter of time.”

He’s expecting an explosion, but there’s barely a flicker. Kaoru twirls his fork, curiously calm, spinning a noodle around the tines. He doesn’t eat it. Just keeps twirling, slow and graceful.

“Not all of them,” he says.

Kojiro blinks.

“Not all of what?”

“My piercings, you gorilla,” Kaoru says, poisonously polite. “What else would I be talking about?”

Kojiro gives him a disbelieving once-over. His ears and face are devoid of metal now, with only the tell-tale dimples in his lobes and just under his lip remaining; he’s almost smiling now, a slight curve to his mouth.

 _Not all of them,_ he’d said. Heat crawls up the back of Kojiro’s neck and down his spine all at once. The red-brick space between the counter and the kitchen, usually cozy, shrinks around him. _Not all of them,_ but there aren’t any where Kojiro can see, which means—

“Liar.” His mouth is dry. He reaches for the soda again, but the bottle is empty. “What’d you leave in, then?”

“That’s none of your business.” Kaoru takes another bite, chews with relish. He’s still got that thin, knowing smile, the one that makes Kojiro want to smack it right off his pretty-boy face. “Why do you care, anyway?”

“I don’t!”

He’s not thinking about it. He _refuses_ to think about it. There are only so many hidden places on the body, and Kaoru’s probably fucking with him just to be an asshole, because that’s what he does. There’s no way someone so uptight and concerned with image has piercings like what he’s implying. It’s laughable, really, the idea of Kaoru in his glasses and kimonos and expensive cologne, pierced nipples hidden just underneath—

The bottle almost slips from his hand. He fumbles, catches it just in time. Turns away with his ears burning so he doesn’t have to see Kaoru’s smile grow wider, and takes it to the recycling bin in the back. Not that it was especially urgent, but he needs a second to shake off the familiar, unwelcome twisting sensation in his gut. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about. Kaoru’s just being a smug bastard, as usual, messing with him. Kojiro’s known him for their entire lives. If Kaoru of all people had extra piercings, he’d have found out by now.

Probably.

Kaoru’s finished by the time he returns, blotting his mouth on his napkin one last time and pushing his chair back. He stands, drops it on his empty plate. “Your cooking was almost good today,” he says, and smiles serenely when Kojiro gives him the finger. “I might even recommend you to my next client for dinner.”

“Get out of my restaurant, four-eyes,” Kojiro grumbles, leaning on the counter again, and watches him head for the door. On impulse, he calls out, “Hey.”

Kaoru looks back, hand on the doorframe.

“You were joking about the piercings, right?”

He doesn’t know why he says it, or why it seems so important in the moment to get a straight answer out of him. He just wants Kaoru to say yes, so they can drop it and he never has to think about it again. Instead, he gets another smile, one he’s seen plenty over the years—a sharp, secretive smile, like there’s some private joke he’s considering sharing but hasn’t decided if you’re worth it yet. The one that promises everything and gives away nothing at the same time. Sunlight spills into the restaurant when Kaoru pushes the door open, illuminating red-brick walls and polished, honeyed wood.

“I guess you’ll never know,” he says. “Will you?”

*****

They’d kissed once, their senior year. Right after ADAM left. He can’t remember who started it. It had seemed important at the time, but now, he’s not sure it matters. He’d spent a lot of time blocking out the details, after Kaoru had shut him down—come up behind him at school the next day and slung an arm around him, like he always did, only for Kaoru to jerk away like he’d been burned.

 _Don’t touch me,_ he’d hissed, teeth bared, and that had been that. They’d never talked about it again.

So, yeah. Not exactly one of his better memories from that year. But now it’s worming its way back into his brain, because if he concentrates he can remember the exact feel of Kaoru’s lip ring, warm and metallic against his tongue. Maybe he had his nipples pierced back then, too. Maybe he’d kept them a secret all that time.

He’s not going to think about it, he tells himself. He _refuses_ to think about it. He’s already spent one too many sleepless nights trying to figure out what’s going on in Kaoru’s head.

And really, it’s not hard to distract himself, not when he’s got so much else going on: S and the restaurant, shopping and going on dates that are fun but lead nowhere, finding new places to board in peace. After a while, it’s easy to convince himself that he’s forgotten altogether. He doesn’t spend every waking minute thinking about Kaoru, and Kaoru definitely doesn’t spend his time thinking about him. They see each other at S and when Kaoru’s clients bring him by the restaurant to celebrate his successes, and things are normal. They compete and argue and try to out-do each other however they can, and nobody talks about piercings or implies anything weird. Everything is fine.

Of course, it doesn’t last.

It’s Friday again, well past closing time. Kaoru had turned up for dinner, which he did sometimes if he thought he could get a free meal out of it, and Kojiro had threatened to kick him out but given him a discount anyway. And then it was already late, so Kaoru had stayed—they might as well go down to S together, Kojiro figures, even if they’ll split up before they go in. It’s nice to have company while he cleans up. Not that he doesn’t have staff, but they’re a small restaurant, with room for a four-person crew at most, and he prefers to handle the majority of it himself after the rush has come and gone. Makes the place feel like his, reminds him how much work he’s put in to get to this point. He turns the radio up while he washes the dishes and listens to Kaoru bitch about the station, grinning all the while.

After he’s done, they have time to kill, so he gets out the cups and one of his nicer bottles of sake, figuring they have time for a drink or two. He’s turned off all the outside lights and flipped the sign for the night, plunging the interior into soft, warm shadows, and the lanterns burn dimly as they drink. Kojiro’s laughing at something he said, not thinking about anything in particular; Kaoru’s right in front of him, pale cheeks flushed, hair spilling from its tie, his kimono beginning to slip from his shoulder as he gestures widely. He’s not wearing anything underneath, and it’s then Kojiro sees it. A glimpse of a dusky nipple, a few shades darker than the fall of pale pink hair beside it, and a glint of silver in the shadow.

Just a glimpse, but the sight slams into his brain like a sledgehammer. His voice catches, strangled. Kaoru pauses in the middle of his story, frowning, then stops. He follows Kojiro’s gaze down to his own chest, then back again, and suddenly it’s like all the air is being sucked out of the room as their eyes meet, the radio playing pop songs faintly in the back.

He should say something, he knows. Crack a joke to break the tension, throw out a pointless insult, anything that isn’t sitting there and staring with his tongue fat and useless in his mouth. But his mouth won’t move, and Kaoru’s eyes narrow, gleaming gold in the firelight.

“See something you like?”

This isn’t him. He always has something to say, that perfect thing to charm his customers and make girls giggle and blush, to encourage the younger skaters and piss Kaoru off. He gives as good as he gets. And yet, for the first time in his adult life, Nanjo Kojiro is speechless.

Kaoru’s gaze doesn’t waver. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches up and slides his fingers into the neck of his kimono, tugging it aside to reveal the smooth expanse of his bare throat. It’s stupid, Kojiro thinks faintly, that a thing like that should matter at all. It’s just another man’s neck. But it’s also _Kaoru’s_ neck, and the sight of it makes him ache for a second in some deep, undefinable way. He doesn’t move, palms flat on the counter. He’s almost afraid to.

The gap in the neck widens. Kaoru has artist’s hands, strong and capable, and those long, elegant fingers skim across his collarbones, lingering there for a moment before curling in the linen. The kimono finally falls. It catches on his elbows, leaving his bare chest and shoulders on display, pale and stark against a navy backdrop. The barbells in his nipples shimmer in the low orange light. He doesn’t toy with them or try to put on a show, doesn’t play it up for approval. He just sits there, a knowing glint in his eye, and lets Kojiro take a good, long look.

“When…” Kojiro croaks, throat gone dry. “When did even you get those?”

Kaoru raises one hand, crooks his finger. Beckoning him forward. Kojiro’s feet take him out from behind the counter on their own; he moves like he’s in a dream. It’s always been simpler with girls. He knows what to say and how to say it, how to flirt and kiss and let them down easy, but when it comes to Kaoru, he feels like a complete beginner. Like he’s stepping onto a skateboard for the first time all over again. He takes another unsteady step forward, then stops. Just far away enough that he can’t reach out and touch. He doesn’t trust himself right now. Kaoru props his chin in his hand, eyes half-lidded as he looks Kojiro up and down.

“You like them,” he says.

“Fuck off.”

“Do you want to touch them?”

Kojiro’s swallow is audible in the dark of the restaurant. Kaoru smiles.

“Beat me in a race at S, then.”

“Wh… you want to talk about beefing _right now_?”

Kaoru shrugs his kimono back on, his nipples and the smooth expanse of his chest disappearing from view. Straightens the collar, smoothing it flat, and Kojiro’s gaze follows his hands down his chest, lingering where the piercings must be. “Why not? Unless you’re afraid you’ll lose.”

“Afraid,” Kojiro scoffs. “Of what? _You_?”

(The truth is, he’s a little afraid. He can’t remember the last time his heart beat this fast. Not at S, not _Sia la Luce’s_ opening, but now, in a softly-lit room with the shutters drawn.)

“Accept my challenge, then,” Kaoru says, eyes boring straight into Kojiro’s. He couldn’t look away if he tried. “Beat me, and you can do whatever you want.”

*****

He loses. For once, it’s not even close.

It’s all Kaoru’s fault, he tells himself after, fuming with his board clutched white-knuckled in his hands. He’d probably done it on purpose, set him up to throw him off his game. They did that all the time. Always in fun, always part of the game—so why? Why did it have to affect him like this now? He’d been completely off tonight, sloppy and distracted by the sight of Kaoru ahead of him, always just ahead. Just out of reach. He shouldn’t care so much, so why?

Why is he so angry?

They fight—it’s what they do. They mess with each other, they argue, they yell and shove and trip each other, but it never _means_ anything. It’s how they’ve always been. It’s comfortable, familiar. Tonight, though. Tonight it feels like Kaoru’s laughing at him, left him spinning, and now he’s completely off-balance. He can’t stop thinking about those ridiculous piercings. He wants to, but he can’t. The image is burned into the back of his eyelids, pale pink and silver flashing whenever he blinks.

He would have been happier not knowing. Kaoru’s opened a door without warning, one that’s been locked for years, and now all he can think about is how those piercings would feel if he sucked on them, and what sort of noises Kaoru would make if he did. And then he’s angry all over again, because in what world is that fair? That Kaoru can just _do_ that to him, can make him ache like this and then leave him out in the cold? Hadn’t once been enough? His board’s digging into his palms, hard enough to hurt.

He should go home, he knows, and he tries. He really does. It’s well past midnight, streetlights buzzing overhead as his vespa hums down an empty stretch of road, and he needs to open for lunch tomorrow. He needs sleep, and distance. And even as he thinks these things, he shifts gears, turning the corner onto Kaoru’s street. 

Like its owner, the house is elegant, neat, with a well-kept garden and moonrise maples decorating the front yard. The koi in the pond splash lazily as Kojiro storms up the walkway. He knows Kaoru’s awake, he’d left S maybe ten minutes before him, and the fact that the porchlight’s not on doesn’t stop him from pounding on the front door. He’s still going when it slams open, Kaoru on the other side with his face all twisted up, mouth sour.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just grabs Kojiro’s arm with an iron grip and drags him inside, practically shoving him into the entryway. The door shuts behind them with a quiet _click._ “It’s almost one AM! Are you trying to wake the entire neighborhood?”

Kojiro barks out a laugh. It’s not funny, but he can’t help it. Kaoru glares at him, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He’s still dressed for Crazy Rock, his mask and gloves sitting in a crumpled heap on the end table next to the mat. His ponytail is coming loose, strands of hair clinging to his temples and flushed cheeks.

“Why,” he says through clenched teeth, “are you here?”

“Seriously? And you call me stupid.”

Kaoru’s scowl deepens. “If this is your idea of a joke—”

“Oh, you wanna talk about jokes? Me too.” Kaoru had been the taller one, when they were kids, but then Kojiro hit his growth spurt and gloated about those extra two and a half centimeters all through middle school; he uses them to full advantage now, glaring down his nose as he backs Kaoru up against the wall. Not quite touching, but close. “So, is that what all that was? Just you messing with me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kaoru says frostily.

Anger sizzles through him, bright and wounded.

“That’s low, four-eyes,” he snaps. “Even for you.” Something flashes in Kaoru’s eyes, a crack in his shell, but Kojiro’s too pissed off to stop himself. “All that shit back in the restaurant, flashing me and asking me if I wanted to touch you… that was just a joke, right? You needed the win that bad?” And now maybe it’s Kaoru’s turn to be speechless, because he’s staring at Kojiro, lips parted soundlessly. They move, but nothing comes out. Kojiro’s breathing hard, fist balled, forearm braced on the wall beside his head. Their faces are too close but he can’t back off now, he’s not going to lose a second time that night. “You can’t just jerk me around whenever you feel like it. You got that? Even if you don’t want me, you can’t just—”

“Idiot,” Kaoru says.

His voice is quiet, but it might as well have been a shout, it cuts Kojiro off so abruptly. He stares at Kaoru, who stares right back, chin raised, his face the same shade as his hair. “What?”

“I said, you’re an _idiot,_ ” Kaoru snaps, and yanks him down into a kiss.

This is nothing like the kiss they shared back in high school. That had been clumsy, inexperienced, with a desperate edge born of grief and shared anger. This is pure heat, and in its wake, a decade of pent-up desire spills out, crashing over them both. Kaoru kisses like a punch to the gut, one hand snarled in Kojiro’s hair, the other digging into his shoulder. Want rakes its claws down Kojiro’s back. He grabs Kaoru’s thighs without thinking, hoisting him up, and Kaoru gasps into his mouth as his back hits the wall. Somehow Kojiro manages to get his shoes off while Kaoru’s biting his lip, calves locked around his hips, and then he turns and stumbles further into the house, barely paying attention to where he’s going. Kaoru is all hot lean muscle against him, ass and thighs filling Kojiro’s palms, tongue in his mouth; his hair smells like sweat and shampoo, with faint traces of the stupidly expensive cologne he has custom-made just for him. Kojiro’s never going to be able to smell it without getting hard again. He nearly rams his shins into the side of the futon as he dumps Kaoru onto it, sending him sprawling ungracefully.

“Watch it!”

“Shut up,” Kojiro growls, and rips the front of his kimono open.

The lamp burns soft in the corner, their only source of light, and the bars in Kaoru’s nipples shimmer invitingly against his skin. He tries to say something, but it crumbles into a moan as Kojiro catches one between his teeth. He’s already hard, but the contrast of soft skin and unyielding metal makes his head spin. His dick throbs as he drags his tongue over the hard little pebble of Kaoru’s nipple, sucking roughly. Kaoru’s back arches up off the futon. He buries his fingers in Kojiro’s hair with a muffled curse.

“Shoulda told me about these sooner.” Kojiro’s free hand sneaks up so he can tug on both barbells, tongue soothing one before switching to the other. Kaoru groans, hips grinding up against Kojiro’s stomach. His fingers tremble as Kojiro’s thumb strokes the slick flesh of one nipple, the ridge of his teeth pressing into the other for a second before he lets up. “I could have been doing this every day.”

“You— _ah—”_

“I what? Because I lost, but you don’t seem like you’re complaining.” He kisses his way down Kaoru’s sternum, along the arch of his ribcage, before dragging his nails down the muscled plane of his stomach. Kaoru swallows hard, his stomach twitching under Kojiro’s palm. “Kinda feels like this is what you wanted, actually.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Kaoru says, which might have been convincing if the last syllable hadn’t trailed off into a moan as Kojiro’s fingers find his nipples again, pinching and stroking.

“So this isn’t what you were hoping? That I’d be so pissed off from losing the race after you teased me that I’d show up and fuck you anyway?” Kaoru’s nipples are hard between his fingers, pink and wet from all the attention, and he can’t stop touching them, can’t resist sucking on them and curling his tongue around the ends of the piercings; every brush and flick and kiss wrings another groan from that perfect throat. “What were you gonna do if I didn’t, huh? Show up tomorrow at the restaurant and pick another fight?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kaoru pants, but Kojiro’s already warming to the idea, kissing sloppily up his neck to bite his earlobe, running his tongue over the dimples where his earrings used to be.

“C’mon, don’t get shy on me now. Would you have even been able to wait until we got back to my place?” He licks the hollow behind Kaoru’s ear, bites at his neck while he rucks up the bottom half of the kimono, fingers digging into the soft skin of Kaoru’s inner thigh. “Or would we have just done it right there at the bar?”

Kaoru’s pink beneath him—pink hair, pink lips, pink nipples—soft and rumpled in the dim light, spread out beneath him. He looks stunned, half-wrecked with his eyes glazed over and breathing uneven, and isn’t that a pretty picture, when they’ve barely done anything yet? Kaoru might deal in elegance, poised and polished as any of his work, but Kojiro likes him best like this, splintering beneath the weight of his own need. He knows now he’ll never be over this—this moment, this sight, the look on Kaoru’s face as he tilts his head to meet Kojiro’s gaze.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d win,” he says, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “For once.”

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” Kojiro says, delighted, and pulls him into another kiss, deep and open-mouthed and filthy.

They’re not teenagers anymore, but he feels like one, desperately horny, drunk off the sight and smell of bare skin. He’s seen plenty of people naked, but never Kaoru, not like this; it’s been a long time since a glimpse of hip or thigh alone made him ache. He’s not a patient man, and it’s late, but none of that matters. He wants to explore, soak in every bit of this and keep it for as long as he can. He pins Kaoru down and plays with his piercings until he’s a writhing, over-sensitive mess, cursing and trying to squirm away as Kojiro licks and sucks at his tender nipples. The hard line of his cock keeps pressing into Kojiro’s hip, trapped between their bodies.

“Enough,” he gasps, hoarse, “enough,” and finally Kojiro relents, biting his collarbone. He wants to keep playing with them, but he’s not a complete asshole, so he hooks his leg over Kaoru’s instead, grinding lazily against his thigh.

“Already? I haven’t even taken my clothes off.” He trails his fingers over Kaoru’s belly and hip, knuckles deliberately brushing the side of his cock. Kaoru starts against him, inhaling through his nose. “That’s gotta be some kind of record.”

“Shut up,” Kaoru says, forearm over his eyes. “I hate you.”

“Well,” Kojiro says, and looks down. “Not all of you.”

He’s laughing as he says it, but it’s short-lived; Kaoru reaches over and grabs his dick, squeezing firmly through his pants. He yelps, and Kaoru rolls onto his elbow, grabbing Kojiro’s chin with his free hand.

“Get in the bedroom before I change my mind.”

An invitation’s an invitation. Kojiro retaliates by hauling him up from the futon and slinging him bodily over one shoulder, ignoring his indignant complaints, and catches a knee to the ribs as thanks.

“You goddamn gorilla.” The way Kaoru spits it, it almost sounds fond. “Put me down!”

“That’d be a lot more convincing if your dick wasn’t digging into my shoulder,” Kojiro tells him, and punctuates this with a firm smack to the ass. The noise that earns him goes straight down his spine to his cock.

The bedroom’s close, a straight shot down the hall, and they practically tumble through the doorway, landing on the bed in a tangle of limbs as they tear at each other’s clothes. The kimono, undone the rest of the way and discarded; Kojiro’s jacket and pants, unzipped and flung to the side. He barely has time to get his socks off before Kaoru’s yanking his boxers down his hips, and then there’s a mouth on him and he slumps back onto the pillows, fingers digging hard into the comforter. He hadn’t been expecting it, and the startled moan it wrings from his throat hangs between them in the silent dark of the room. The lush, wet heat of Kaoru’s mouth is almost too much. He huffs out a shaky breath as Kaoru’s hand joins his mouth. Moonlight slips through the slats in the blinds, scattering silver beams across the bed. Kaoru’s only visible in pale slivers: thigh, shoulder, cheek. The corner of his mouth, glistening with spit, stretched wide around Kojiro’s cock.

The sight is too much. He has to stare up at the darkened, polished wood of the ceiling, trying to count the beams to calm himself down, and he’s almost glad when Kaoru pulls away, wiping his lips on the back of his arm; he’s so hard it aches, closer to coming than he wants to be. There’s the faint creak and thump of a drawer opening and closing, and then the familiar sound of a packet tearing open. Kojiro holds out his hand, but Kaoru shoves it away, and Kojiro bites back a groan as strong hands roll the condom onto him in one smooth motion. Another _click_ as Kaoru pops the top of the bottle sitting on the nightstand, and the firm grip is back, slicking lube all down his shaft, squeezing the base before letting go. A solid weight settles across his hips as Kaoru straddles him seconds later, knees braced on either side.

“Fuck,” Kojiro says, dazed, staring up at him. “Kaoru—”

Kaoru says nothing. He lifts himself up and sinks onto Kojiro’s cock with a quiet hiss of pleasure. It knocks the words right out of Kojiro’s mouth.

Out there, in the world of S, Kaoru’s all about control. He’s precise, and fiercely exacting, always looking to find the most efficient method of victory. _Overcalculated,_ Kojiro’s called him more than once. He plays to win, but he rarely lets loose. In here, he’s a force of nature. There’s nothing precise about the way he rocks his hips, hair falling over his face and around his shoulders, palms braced against Kojiro’s stomach. Nothing calculated about the way he rides Kojiro, hips flexing, back arched. Demanding, _taking_ what he wants, and Kojiro’s drowning in him, heat and friction and the rough, panting breaths he lets out with each thrust. He rides Kojiro with the same single-minded, intense focus he commits to everything he does, and it’s all Kojiro can do to hold on. He grabs Kaoru’s hips, bucks into him, trying to match his pace. The bedframe creaks, wood shuddering beneath them. Kaoru is a perfect silhouette above him, wild-eyed. Moonlight drenches his skin, piercings gleaming. His mouth is swollen.

“You’re beautiful,” Kojiro breathes.

He doesn’t mean to say it—it just slips free in the moment, unguarded. A grunt follows as Kaoru crashes down on him. His lips are soft and a little chapped, soothing the sting as he bites Kojiro’s lip. His hair falls around their faces, loose tendrils tickling Kojiro’s cheek. He snakes a hand into the awkward space between their bodies and finds Kaoru’s cock, lets him rut into his fist while he does his best to hold out. Pleasure’s pooling hot in his belly, crackling up his spine and turning his legs to overcooked pasta, and all he can think is _shit shit shit I can’t come yet_ —if he does, there’s no way Kaoru’s going to let him live it down. _Please,_ his hand moving in time with Kaoru’s hips, his eyes screwed shut. _Just a little bit longer._

He plants his feet against the mattress and _lifts_ with his core, thrusting deep. Kaoru moans, thin and sharp, into his mouth, blunt fingernails digging into his shoulders. His cock pulses in Kojiro’s hand. Kojiro squeezes his hip, trying desperately to focus on anything but the slick heat clenching around him. He strokes Kaoru hard, sucking on his lower lip until he pulls away with a groan, glasses foggy and askew. His expression is obscenely soft.

“Kojiro,” he says, “please—”

Two words, gasped in his ear like a secret, are enough to completely undo him. Kojiro only manages another couple thrusts before he’s shuddering out his orgasm, hips rolling helplessly against Kaoru’s ass. Kaoru squirms and bucks, face flushed, and comes a moment later with a hoarse moan, throbbing in Kojiro’s hand, clenching around his softening dick. It’s so good it almost hurts. He yanks Kaoru down into another kiss before he can protest.

Afterwards, condom disposed of and mess cleaned, they lay sprawled on top of the covers, shoulder to shoulder. Neither of them has said anything for a while, but the air feels heavier now. Expectant. The ceiling fan rotates, humming slowly overhead.

“It’s late,” Kaoru says.

“Yeah,” Kojiro agrees. Neither of them makes any move to get up.

“Well? Don’t act like you’re sleeping over.”

Some of the bite has crept back into Kaoru’s tone, but it’s not as harsh as it usually is, blunted by hour and circumstance. He’s offering Kojiro a chance to go back to normal—to pretend they don’t need to talk about all the things they’ve been avoiding for the last decade. Late as it is, tired as they are, it’s tempting. They could put it off for at least one more day, if he really wanted to.

“Back in high school,” Kojiro says instead, staring up at the steady arc of the fan. “Why?”

To his credit, Kaoru doesn’t pretend not to know what he’s talking about. He rolls on his side, away from Kojiro, and it’s a long time before he says anything.

“I’d just lost ADAM.” So quiet, Kojiro can barely hear him. “And then you kissed me, and I… I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?” Kojiro prompts, when nothing more is forthcoming.

“Never mind,” Kaoru grumbles. “This was a bad idea.”

“Stop being melodramatic and just tell me, will you?”

Kaoru grumbles again, louder.

“What was that? Sorry, you’re gonna have to speak up.”

“I was afraid, alright?” Kaoru says sharply, sitting up. For a second Kojiro’s afraid he’s going to get up, but he just sits there for a moment before letting out a long exhale, shoulders slumping. “I was afraid. I hope you’re happy.”

Kojiro puts a tentative hand on his back, palm splayed across his spine. He shivers, but doesn’t move.

“Afraid of what?”

“I… ruining it. Somehow. I was sure…” He trails off. “I couldn’t lose you too.”

It’s a moment of striking, quiet vulnerability, the rarest gift Kojiro’s ever been given—he knows what it takes for Kaoru to let himself be seen like this, as anything less than perfect. None of which explains why he feels so weightless just then. He’s grinning like a fool when Kaoru twists around with a scowl, his eyes too-bright and hackles up.

“I can _feel_ you smirking at me—"

The rest of his sentence dissolves into a yelp as Kojiro wraps both arms around him and drags him back down to the mattress, curled around him in a tight embrace as he squirms fruitlessly.

“What’s so goddamn funny?”

“Just… stop talking and lay here with me for a minute,” Kojiro says, still grinning.

Kaoru huffs, but stops moving and lays still all the same. Their breathing slowly deepens, evens in stereo. Kojiro noses his hair out of the way so he can nuzzle the nape of his neck.

“You aren’t gonna lose me,” he says.

“Hnh?” Kaoru says, sounding half-asleep.

“You asked what was so goddamn funny.” He tugs Kaoru a little closer. “Thought you woulda learned that you’re stuck with me by now.”

“Shut up,” Kaoru says, ducking his chin to his chest. He almost sounds like he’s smiling. 


End file.
